


DTF

by Captain_Loki



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, Derek's POV, Fluff, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Porn, Rimming, Top!Stiles, bottom!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Loki/pseuds/Captain_Loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s nearly midnight when Derek gets the text, phone buzzing against the mattress beside him.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Horny: DTF?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	DTF

**Author's Note:**

> Gratuitous Derek rides Stiles fic...basically. This fandom needs more Derek rides Stiles fic

It’s nearly midnight when Derek gets the text, phone buzzing against the mattress beside him.

_Horny: DTF?_

As loquacious and romantic as always. His fingers stutter out a quick reply and he hits send without thought, grabbing his leather jacket on the way out.

_Be there in 20_

Derek doesn’t need the confirmation of the solitary heartbeat to know the Sheriff isn’t home. Stiles has something of an exhibitionist kink Derek doesn’t mind indulging in, but neither of them particularly have a death wish, contrary to popular lifestyle choices.

Stiles’ window is open when he reaches it, slipping inside with careful, practiced ease. The room is dark but the moon lights the room well enough that even Stiles’ human eyes must be able to see him. Derek doesn’t need it, can easily make out Stiles lying sprawled across his too small twin bed. His eyes are closed but he’s betrayed by his quickened pulse and the quirk of his lips he can’t hide.

He isn’t fooling anyone.

Silently, Derek pulls off his leather jacket and tosses it onto Stiles’ desk chair. Stiles opens his eyes now, watching him as he strips. Derek pulls the fraying wife beater off and drops it onto the floor while he toes out of his boots. He tugs at his belt and pops the button on his jeans and slides the zipper down just a little slower than he’d do naturally.

He likes to watch the way Stiles’ pupils dilate, the way his lips part, the way his hand moves to press against his own erection. Derek isn’t hard yet as he pushes his jeans and boxer briefs down until they pool around his ankles and he steps out of them, carefully.

He moves toward the bed, Stiles watching with heavy lidded eyes. He straddles Stiles’ thighs until he’s reaching forward to toy at the waist of Stiles’ sweatpants. Stiles lifts his hips with a lazy sort of roll and Derek tugs them down. He’s not wearing anything underneath, and Derek’s cock jerks and starts to fill with the rush of blood. Stiles smirks a little smugly as he raises his arms above his head languidly.

But Derek pushes a little roughly at Stiles’ side and motions for him to roll over, which he does, quirking an eyebrow at him even as he goes without word. He squirms a little on his stomach, hips wriggling, dragging his cock against his sheets and moaning softly. Derek smirks and pulls his sweatpants off the rest of the way and tosses them behind him without thought and scooches down lower on the bed before he grips at the soft pale swell of Stiles’ ass cheeks and spreads them.

Stiles lets out a louder groan as he does it, but his moan gets choked off and he goes quiet once Derek starts lapping at his hole. Tongue wet with saliva that he gathers up and lets drip down Stiles’ hole, leaking down across his perineum and balls.

Derek sucks, licks, and bites at the skin of Stiles’ ass, tongue sweeping across and circling his hole before stiffening into a point and plunging in, fucking into him. Stiles’ hips move, soft writhes and twists, his back arching and his ass thrusting towards Derek’s face despite the fact that he can’t get any closer.

Stiles barely makes a sound the entire time, which threw a nervous Derek when they first started having sex. Stiles isn’t particularly talkative but he’s loud and obnoxious when he’s passionate about something, but he’d learned quick enough that soft moans and long loud dragged out sighs and groans meant _incredible,_ and _yes, that’s awesome_ , but open mouthed silence meant Stiles was completely beyond his ability to process how _fucking good_ it felt.

Derek slides a bit further down the bed to suck one of Stiles’ balls into his mouth, he presses the tip of his index at Stiles’ hole, teasing at it, while Stiles gives a grunt of complaint, his ass moving back in a show of wanton need, demanding Derek press inside him. But he doesn’t. With a wet and indecent pop Stiles’ ball slides from his mouth. Derek licks one last strip up stiles’ spread cheeks before he sits up, pushing at him again.

Stiles rolls over, legs spread in a lazy sprawl, returning his arms above his head and offering himself up for Derek. Derek leans down once more and takes him into his mouth, sucking him down hard and fast, Stiles groaning softly above him. He looks up and catches Stiles’ gaze, eyes slipping closed, and snapping back open watching the way Derek’s head bobs in his lap. Stiles isn’t ever shy about telling Derek how hot he finds it, and if it is even half as arousing as the image of Stiles in his own lap, he doesn’t blame him.

Too soon later and Stiles is tugging at Derek, insistently, blunt fingernails scraping over his shoulder, hand caressing his jaw before tangling in his hair. Derek pulls off, with regret, but kneels up, moving towards Stiles, until he can drag the hard jut of his cock against Stiles’ cheek, his mouth open and searching.

Stiles raises himself up, expending as little effort as is required, just enough to brace himself on one forearm as he grips at Derek’s cock, jerking him off slow and hard. Stiles’ licks at the head of Derek’s cock, swirls his broad tongue across it before sucking him down. The angle isn’t perfect, and Stiles can’t swallow the way Derek wants, but the sight of his erection forcing Stiles’ cheek out makes his stomach tighten and he moans.

Stiles pulls off then and collapses lazily back against his comforter and watches as Derek scoots back down the bed, poised over Stiles, leaning forward slightly to grab at the half empty bottle of lube on Stiles’ headboard.

He pops the cap open and drips a liberal amount onto his fingers before he drops it. He spreads his legs to widen his stance, balancing himself with a hand braced on one of the shelves above Stiles, the other hand slicked with lube reaches behind him, and he fingers himself open with one, and then two fingers, twists his wrists as he fucks himself open, tight hole stretching. Stiles’ hands stroke up and down the outside of his thighs, until his thumb catches on the jut of his hipbone and back down, soothing, intimate in a way that the fucking isn’t. His eyes are bright in the moonlight, irises a pale gold rim around blown pupils as he watches Derek, captivated. It makes Derek flush hot all over and he looks away.  

Finally, Derek pulls his hand free and reaches once more for the discarded lube, squeezing more out onto Stiles’ dick and slicking up his cock. Stiles’ eyes slip closed, his hands falling to just above Derek’s knees, hands still rubbing smooth circles into his skin as Derek jerks him off. When he worries at his bottom lip and lets out a desperate sort of whimper Derek moves, grips Stiles’ tight, thighs straining as he lowers himself carefully, sinking down onto Stiles’ hard cock.

Stiles’ right arm moves to squeeze Derek’s shoulder, fingers stuttering over the muscle there before he slides his hand up Derek’s neck, thumb brushing over the outer shell of his ear, his right holds Derek’s hip. With a stuttered groan Derek’s ass meets Stiles skin, his cock buried inside him.

He gives himself pause, adjusting to the feeling, the ebbing burn giving way to the overwhelming _good_ that Derek feels when he’s seated like this, full. It had surprised Stiles, the first time they had sex, Derek remembers, when Stiles had asked with obvious expectation, “do you want to fuck me?” And Derek had considered it for a moment and shrugged, “I prefer getting fucked.” And Stiles had gaped and Derek wondered if that was the end of their very short lived foray into this fuck buddy thing they had going on, and then Stiles’ face had split into a huge and grin, “fuck yeah you do.” And that was that.

Derek was maybe downplaying just how much he prefers getting fucked, that first time he’d admitted it, especially with Stiles, who is all limbs and spastic flailing everywhere but here. In bed he is focused and attentive, receptive to Derek and generous in a way Derek’s other partners hadn’t, certainly not Kate, who took what she wanted and had a way of making you feel like it was exactly what you’d asked for except for the nagging discomfort that crept in afterwards.

Stiles is a respite from reality, when he is beneath him, over him, behind him, hips like pistons and stronger than he looks, his fingers pressing bruises into Derek’s hips that heal too quickly.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles grits. “You still there?” Derek smirks, grabs at Stiles loosely and pulls him in for a sloppy open mouthed kiss. Stiles groans into it, trying to fuck up into Derek, but Derek isn’t budging. Stiles whimpers and pulls back. “ _Please,_ Derek,” he whines, voice edged with slight irritation. Derek huffs out a laugh and moves.

He fucks himself hard on Stiles’ dick, brutal slams of his ass against the sweat slicked skin of Stiles’ thighs. Stiles urges him on, his hands splayed across Derek’s hips.

“Fuck yeah,” Stiles sighs, “You look so good like this,” he chokes out on a groan. Derek pulls off and slams back down, rolling his hips slowly before picking up speed. Stiles bites his lip, and lets his eyes slip closed, one hand roving over Derek’s chest and the other finding his hard cock, jerking Derek off in messy thrusts as Derek continues his pace.

Derek keens low in his throat as Stiles thumbs at the head of his dick, slicked with precome and aching. Stiles braces his elbow on his abdomen and lets Derek’s cock slide itself in and out of the tight circle of his hand as Derek fucks himself open.

Derek slows his pace and drops forward, leaning over Stiles, pressing their chests together, burying his face in Stiles’ neck. Stiles lets out a stifled groan and grabs at Derek’s ass, fingertips pressing hard into his skin, stretching him open around his cock. Stiles pushes at him, helping Derek keep rhythm, his hips fucking up into Derek as Derek braces himself up, letting Stiles set the pace now.

Every upward thrust sends him pitching forward and Derek bites at the skin of Stiles’ neck, nose pressed against the tendons there, Stiles’ pulse loud in his ears, the scent of his musk heavy, taste of his skin salty where he licks and sucks.

“Fuck, Stiles,” he groans, breathe ghosting across Stiles’ ear, and Stiles’ whole body twitches, cock dragging across his prostate. Derek can’t help the smirk that breaks out across his face, Stiles ticklish, and he breathes across his ear again, to elicit the same response, and Derek groans with satisfaction when Stiles angles his cock just right to press against his prostate on every upward thrust. Derek clutches at Stiles, begging for release.

“Come on,” Stiles moans, nails dragging against the skin of Derek’s back, Derek wishes, not for the first time, that the marks would stay, but they heal as quickly as they come.

“Yeah,” Derek moans, pushing himself up and bracing himself with his palms spread across Stiles’ chest. He pulls off of Stiles once and slams back down, and Stiles’ eyes widen, mouth falling open on a silent moan as he comes, hard, fingers stuttering and slipping across Derek’s hips.

Derek slows hips to shallow thrusts as he rides Stiles through his orgasm, cock pulsing inside him. He pulls off then, feeling Stiles’ come leaking from his ass, down the back of his thigh as he jerks himself off. Stiles pushes himself up, reaching out for Derek’s cock and tugging at his dick enthusiastically.  

“Fuck,” Derek groans, his cock pulsing, and then he’s coming, over Stiles’ mouth, and cheek, over his throat and across his tongue. Stiles darts forward and sucks Derek into his mouth, milking the last of his orgasm, until Derek grits out, “God, Stiles,” with a sigh, cock giving one last jerk of appreciation before its oversensitive and he pulls away from Stiles with a stuttered whimper.

Stiles grinned and flops back against the bed, reaching for a Kleenex to swipe at the mess across his face.

“Fucking love sex,” he sighs. Derek rolls his eyes and collapses against the bed next to him, grudgingly allowing Stiles to pull him against his chest. “You’re really good at the sex,” Stiles says.

“You’re okay,” Derek deadpans. Stiles huffs, and presses a kiss to Derek’s temple.

“Dad won’t be home ‘til tomorrow, will you stay?” Stiles asks. Derek can hear the flutter of his heartbeat and he nips at Stiles’ chest.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m not done yet.”

“Unf.”

 

 


End file.
